


This doesn't really have a title

by Tylor



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tylor/pseuds/Tylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LOL writes this when my other fic hasn't been updated in 2 months<br/>just some sads i wanted to write nbd</p>
            </blockquote>





	This doesn't really have a title

“Nice shot!” Michael yells as a bullet from Gavin’s gun pierces the eyeball of a nearby corpse. Brain matter and other rotten bodily fluids squirt out along with the bullet, and the zombie falls to the ground.

“Michael, there’s too many of them!”

Looking around, Michael realises he’s right. There’s thirty or so of the undead starting to surround them.  _Shit_. The two start backing up deeper into the woods.

“Fuck, I hate it when you’re right.” It’s not really the time to be making jokes. “Gavin, we have to split up!”

“But Michael-“

“If we split up, then these fuckers will too. Then there’s less for us to outrun.” Gavin looks scared shitless. “Just fucking run to the base. Don’t bother shooting them, it’s a waste of ammo.”

“Race you there?”

“Shit yeah I will buddy!” Michael fakes a smile. “Everything will be ok, I promise. Ready?”

Gavin holsters his gun, gulps, and nods.

And then they run.

Michael starts heading east while Gavin runs west. Their ‘safe house’, a crappy little shack they found in the woods, is around three miles north of the zombie ambush they just encountered.

If video games have taught Michael anything about zombies, it’s that they are not really that fast, and not nearly that smart. But holy fuck, is it hard to actually shoot them in the head.

While running is not necessary, being safe sounds rather nice right about now, so Michael bolts it. He can hear the zombies trying to run behind him, and the sound of cracking bones as some fall. They have a nasty habit of loosing limbs every now and again.

Twenty minutes later, Michael makes it back to camp. He’s sweaty and covered in blood, but overall happy to be alive. Gavin is no where to be seen. Michael sighs.  _Fucking typical_.

It’s been pretty lonely since… what happened. What the hell happened anyway? Nobody knows. All Michael really knows is that everyone he’s ever called a friend is dead, and there’s no way to bring them back. Except for one. All he have left is Gavin. But as long as they have each other, then he’ll survive.

As time passes by, he gets more and more anxious. The stupid Brit is never more than a couple minutes behind him. He can’t call out for him, since it’ll cause too much attention.

 _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Michael thinks to himself.  _I gotta go look for that fucking moron. He probably got lost. Again._

As Michael grabs his hunting rifle and torch from inside the shack, he hears a shuffle in the bushes. He looks across the clearing to see Gavin shyly make his way through the clearing. He’s grabbing his shoulder and looking down.

“Damn Gavin, you took your sweet ass time.” He lets out a weak laugh.

Gavin starts to look up, and shuffles painfully slowly towards the shack. Michael then realises that Gavin is covered in dirt, yet his face seems puffy and red, with mud smeared all over. Sort of like he’s been… Crying?

“Michael…” Gavin starts to say, in that stupid accent Michael has grown to love. But this time, it doesn’t sound the same. Michael wishes he had his glasses; he can’t see shit. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

He does however see Gavin suddenly collapse to the ground.

He drops everything and rushes over.

The first thing Michael touches is blood. Gavin’s blood. There’s a rip in his shirt, with a giant gash. Not a gash. A bite. It’s oozing blood and pus everywhere.

“Gav… Fuck! Tell me this isn’t yours!”

“It isn’t mine… Heh.” Gavin responds very unconvincingly.

Michael gets on his knees and cradles the Brit’s head in his lap. Gavin is shaking uncontrollably. There’s so much blood everywhere. Fuck.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit.” He can tell Gavin’s already slipping. He starts to rip off his shirt. “What happened?”

“There was… Too many. I ran into more, and… I got surrounded.” Gavin sounds like he’s in a shit ton of pain. His breathing starts to turn to wheezing. Michael is trying to bandage the wound, but he knows its useless. He can feel a tear running down his check.

“Why didn’t you shoot them? You should have been able to fucking demolish them! You’ve got such a good aim, and you’re good at killing them! Why didn’t you kill them Gavin! Why didn’t you…” And he starts to sob.

“Michael… There’s one left.”

“One? One what?”

“One bullet.”

Michael looks at Gavin’s waist. The pistol is in its holster.

“Gavin…”

“Michael… Please…”

Michael reaches for the gun. He places it to his best friends head.

“Michael… Michael… I’m so scared…”

“Don’t be…” He pulls Gavin up to his chest, hugs him for the last time, and kisses his forehead for the first. “You know why? Cuz you’re my boy Gavin!” Michael pulls the trigger and Gavin stops shaking. “You’re my boy.”


End file.
